


Love is a god, and She Demands Empathy

by AzureLightningEmeraldCloud



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Backstory, Doctor Poison - Freeform, Dr. Maru - Freeform, F/F, Post-Wonder Woman (2017), Redemption, Wonder Poison - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureLightningEmeraldCloud/pseuds/AzureLightningEmeraldCloud
Summary: An empathetic look at Doctor Isabel Maru/Doctor Poison. This will look into her past, perhaps some moments in the film, and eventually focus on the relationship between Isabel and Diana.





	1. They Do Not Deserve You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Wonder Woman story, wish me luck? Also, I know little about Diana's version in the comics, and I'm ignoring that Dr. Poison exists in the comics for now.
> 
> I do not own Wonder Woman in any of its forms. If you recognize it, it's not mine.

Love is a god, and She Demands Empathy

 

Part I: They Do _Not_ Deserve You

 

“No sword, just a shield then. No sharp edges.”

 

“Only the strongest of us ever could. And that is _not you_ , Diana.”

 

ßßß

 

            “Isabel, my love, I’ve told you not to bother your father like this, no?” Minerva Maru scolded her little girl. “Leave him to his formulas, and he’ll figure this illness out more quickly,” small Isabel’s face contorted in confusion, after all, she _understood_ this particular piece of the puzzle. “Come, Isabel, it is time for your language lessons,” her mother finished as she steadily pulled the child away from her father’s study.

            “But mama, I know how to help him.” The bright-eyed little girl could not be contained by her disappointment in being denied once again. “Please, let me–,”

            When they were out of listening distance of Dr. Maru’s study, Isabel wasn’t prepared for her mother to stop, quickly crouch down, and tightly grab both of her shoulders. “Isabel, we’ve spoken about this. You cannot walk down your father’s path. I know you’re smart. So much smarter than I was at your age, but you _just can’t. It’s not done, my love._ ” Minerva verged into her native Italian.

            “Mama, you’re hurting me,” the little girl whimpered as her mothers fingers left indents in her shoulders. Upon realising her daughter’s pain, Minerva quickly released her daughter with a kiss on the forehead. She quickly brushed away the tears that had begun to speckle little Isabel’s cheeks, not out of pain, but frustration. “Why, mama? Why _isn’t it done?_ ” Isabel hissed in angry confusion, mirroring her mama’s mother tongue.

            Minerva looked her daughter in the eye, and considered being kind to her, telling her something innocuous, like ‘I’ll tell you when you’re older’; instead, Minerva decided her beautifully gifted daughter deserved the truth, “ _Because you aren’t a man, my love. Because our world is cruel to women who are smarter than the men around them, like you will grow up to be. Like you already are, my beautiful little dove._ ”

            Isabel’s teary expression became confused again, “But why mama?”

            The youngest Maru found herself pulled into a firm hug, “I don’t know, my love. I just don’t,” Minerva murmured into her daughter’s raven locks.

 

           

ßßß

            “You are stronger than you know, you just need to believe.”

           

            “ It was me, I _asked_ her to.”

 

            “ _Ares is alive!_ I can feel it in my bones.”

           

            “Fine. Train her harder than any amazon before. Until she is even better than you.”

 

ßßß

            “What do you think about Dreyfus? The kike is guilty as sin don’t you think?”

            Isabel Maru wasn’t particularly paying attention to the conversation across the quiet pub, but she knew it was about the well-publicized French travesty happening on the continent that started almost a decade ago. Without drawing too much attention to herself, she flagged down the buxom barmaid. Despite the crowds on occasion, she was a sucker for a calm drink at the local pub. As the barmaid passed the men’s table, one of them reached a hand out with ill intent, but only to be dodged with practiced ease. Wiping the foam from her lip with her handkerchief, she greeted the auburn barmaid with a flash of her dark eyes.

            “What can I get for you lass?” she asked as she practically bounced over to Isabel’s solitary table.

            “I’d like the sweetest pint you’ve got,” Isabel replied with cultured ease, though with a notably foreign, though continental accent. Isabel’s eyes calmly, if a little hopefully, monitored the woman’s expression as she took Isabel’s request. To Isabel’s surprise, the barmaid’s pale cheeks flared briefly. Before the barmaid walked away to fulfil the order, Isabel decided to venture a question, “Miss, have those men been bothering you?” Isabel’s tone was kind enough, but she wasn’t as good at keeping the murderous intent out of her eyes completely.

            The barmaid was taken aback, but not unkindly. The sight of this foreigner, and a _teenager_ no less asking after her welfare was well, sweet. Offering the younger girl a kind frown, the barmaid replied, “It’s nothing I’m not used to, or can’t handle. How old are you lassie?”

            Isabel conceded, “Old enough.” At the persistent gaze of the barmaid, she relented, “Sixteen.”

The Barmaid raised an eyebrow, but decided to offer the teenage foreigner an olive branch, “Name’s Morag, let me know if they bother _you_ , alright?” Isabel nodded as Morag went to fetch her a cider.

After a couple minutes punctuated by some more uncouth remarks from the soldier’s table, Morag returned with a cider, “Sorry, but all we have is this _English_ drink.” Morag muttered dejectedly. Isabel tasted it and let out a chuckle at the barmaid’s nationalism.

“I’m guessing you prefer the Scottish alternative,” Isabel ventured.

To her surprise, Morag shook her head. “Don’t snitch, but I actually prefer the German swill over the others,” Isabel chuckled some more at that.

Morag glanced over at the other occupied tables, and noticed that they hadn’t quite finished their drinks, and the head bartender, Ben, was lazily wiping down the bar top. The teenage girl in front of her leisurely sipped at her cider, while her eyes flitted back and forth between the barmaid and some papers in front of her. “What are those?” Morag asked.

Isabel focused on Morag for a moment before answering, “Everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” Isabel’s voice wasn’t nearly as well, _happy_ as the sentence should’ve made it seem.

“And yet…” Morag prodded.

“And yet, I’m worried I’ll disappoint everyone.” Isabel finished with a frown. She considered a moment, and decided to unburden some of her self on this kind Scottish woman. “I’m from an old family on my father’s side, but from India. So his father suffered quite a lot in Europe, and passed that perseverance onto _my_ father. My mama isn’t Christian either, so her family has also suffered. Her ancestors were slaughtered at the pleasure of those who thought themselves better.” Isabel’s voice had become quiet, as to not alert the men at the table a few metres away to her _otherness_ , but Morag could understand the young girl quite well.

“You’re a gypsy then?” Morag asked kindly. Isabel’s eyes flew up at Morag, not because of her words, but because there was no dislike in them.

“Yes, but I have more Jewish blood than Romani.” Isabel basically whispered.

Morag was quite for a moment before offering the girl in front of her some support, “My mother and I worship the old Irish goddess, The Morrigan. Not the new one with his prophetic son,” she winked at Isabel, whose expression became less dire at Morag’s confession. “Do you keep your mother’s faith?” Morag asked softly.

Isabel thought for a moment before answering, “Not any more.” Something unidentifiable to Morag burned in Isabel’s eyes for a moment before they flitted upward and retrained their former light. Isabel Maru took a deep breath as she splayed her hands out across the documents in front of her. “These are from a university in Germany. They’ll let me study what I’ve always wanted. And I’m so scared that I won’t live up to my family’s legacy.”

Morag made an executive decision and plopped down into the booth next to the young girl. “I’m just a barmaid, and I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this town, so my ah, wisdom is limited.” She took a deep breath. “But I think you’d be letting your family down if you didn’t take this opportunity. You see those men over there?” Isabel nodded. “I’d fucking kill each one of them with their butter knives if it meant I could have what you do. But that’s not how the world works, and no, I’ve nothing against you lass; but this is an opportunity that I’m sure was denied to your ancestors on the merits of their blood, no mind their sex.” Morag raised an eyebrow at Isabel, who for her part flushed a little bit, but nodded all the same. “You’ve said it yourself, ‘Its everything I’ve ever wanted’, was it? There’s no better way to betray your heritage than denying yourself that which you truly desire most. So, when you get to Germany, what is it you will study?”

Isabel Maru drains her cider and puts it on the table. She opens her eyes after savouring the last of the delightful drink. She looks up at Morag with her eyes shining once again and calmly declares, “I’m going to become the best chemist in the world.”


	2. Fallen Beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't have Isabel in it, but don't worry; she'll be back soon.

Part II: Fallen Beloved

            Amazon dead littered the beach. It only occurred to Steve Trevor after the fact, that the woman who gave her life for Diana must’ve been family. He sat in the cavern spring, thinking over the last day of his life. Not the part with golden whip, that was too personal for him to admit to himself moment.

ßßß

 

He spent most of it in the air, luckily was able to stop a t a refuelling station after his explosive engagement with Dr. Maru and Ludendorff. They hadn’t sent word quick enough, and the workers of the island airstrip weren’t about to refuse a battered pilot. It was only minutes after departing there when they got the wire, that there was a rogue pilot headed their way, and he was to be taken alive if possible. However, Trevor never new about the ‘take him alive’ order, as it would be death for him no matter what happened if the Germans caught up with him. When he was clear, he peeked inside the notebook, which he had enclosed in the folds of his woollen jacket lining. It was gibberish. Well, at least to the American. There were no discernable Arabic numerals or English letters of any kind.

Though the pilot was quite angry with Dr. Maru, for a litany of reasons, he had to admire exceptional tradecraft when he saw it, and even a spy like him who had just less than a decade of experience working on and off behind German lines in peace and war, there was just nothing he could make of the notebook. The wind was whistling around him, a high note amid the cacophony of his stolen aircraft. He closed the notebook; it was actually quite beautiful, with a distinctly feminine weave of gold around the borders of the emerald-dyed leather, highlighted in the pale glory of the moon.

            And then at once, a hail of gunfire passed just over his shoulder and shredded the engine block. His plane began to smoke as he looked over his shoulder at a lone fighter that had pursued him from the airstrip in the middle of the Mediterranean. He noticed the wobble of its wings, denoting an inexperienced hand guiding the vehicle. Without a shred of pity, he turned off the engine and pulled up, hard. His plane climbed in a sudden steep arc as his enemy flew under him, foolishly accelerating. Steve miscalculated, this wasn’t an inexperienced pilot, and it was probably the blond boy who filled his tank less than an hour ago. A sentiment ran through his head from the last drink he shared with Sameer, _May we never get what we deserve!_

What followed was brutal; Steve angled downward while activating his machine guns. As sweeping arc of gunfire tore the wing off the rookie’s plane, sending him screaming into the water in a far too steep dive that killed the boy and exploded the plane on impact. And the final part of that drinking salute: _bang!_

However, the manoeuvre cost him most of his altitude. He was gliding now. His speed had nearly vanished. A searchlight cut through the night, and while Trevor was momentarily relived it had missed him, the beam of light seemed to stop against the ethereal barrier of fog up ahead.

A dense fog eclipsed the moon, a fog unlike anything Steve Trevor had seen with the exception of the poison gasses released on the battlefield. Instinctively, he held his breath, though deep down he knew Dr. Maru couldn’t be responsible for this, it was only cloud.

But then there was a terrible shudder through his craft. He had hit _something_ that slammed him forward in his seat and mangled the entire body of the plane. But that’s not what caught his attention at first. The first thought that went through his brain was, ‘I thought it was night time.’

The sun looked down on him as he crashed into the clearest waters he’d ever seen. Before passing out, he looked up and saw an angel outlined against the backdrop of the sun.

 

The girl who plucked him from the sea was looking at him oddly. Hungrily? No, not quite. Just…oddly, curiously, like she had never seen– “You’re a _man_ ,” she pronounced as if she had discovered, well, something much more than just a man.

 _Um, did something go horribly wrong with my face in the crash??_ “Do I not look like one?” Steve replied, more panicky than he’d ever admit to.

The rending apart of steel brought his attention away from the angel who’d saved him and back to the German naval forces that had caught up with him. _How the hell did they catch up with me?? I must’ve been hours ahead of them._ Little did Mr. Trevor know, time did not travel the same here on the island.

With a few words, _Germans, bad guys,_ and _run,_ the two neared the rocks for cover. “Get away from her,” a voice echoed down from the cliff top. But there were a few muffled words until the universal one, “Fire!”

“They have guns, right?” Steve beseeched the _tall_ girl who had pulled him from the sea.

            In minutes, German blood coloured the sand, as Steve witnessed the most wondrous combat he’d ever seen. The cavalry had arrived, cutting through the German recon division like a scythe through grain. After gaining a rifle, and clearing the area directly around him, Steve’s attention was drawn to the woman who had led the charge. He felt no shame admitting to himself that he’d never seen her parallel, in all the men who he’d served with in combat. She had taken down at least ten men in close, mid, and far quarters with just her bow and arrows and hands.

 

PING!

PING!

The rapid sound of deflecting bullets drew Steve’s eye after he shot another German. One of the warriors was pinned down by three Germans, who were taking shots at her from a few meters away from behind a rock. The woman was bent double, her shield deflecting each killing shot. The fear in her expression was palpable, her eyes closed shut, teeth gritted in effort, and her shield shook at each shot.

Steve wasn’t the only one who noticed this woman in need. “SHIELD!” The Best Warrior shouted, picking up three arrows as she sprinted toward her comrade. Steve was astonished, a commander who clearly cared for one of her subordinates. A Commander who left herself open to opposing fire as she cut her way across the turf in confident strides. Steve didn’t see it until she was a metre from her comrade. The expression on her face: at once, elation, bloodlust, fear, concern, and something that Steve had trouble admitting to himself. There was love in this great warrior’s eyes as she made herself the prime target by having her besieged ally launch her towards the enemy.

The whole think took less than ten seconds. The three Germans were dead, but that was when the great warrior noticed something Steve had missed, “NO!” She launched herself in front of a shot meant for…the girl who saved Steve’s life. Steve managed to make her sacrifice worthwhile as he dead-eyed soldier who was still pointing his rifle at Steve’s saviour; the soldier fleetingly unconcerned he had just ended a beautiful life, before he too hit the beach as a corpse.

The next few moments were a blur; the saviour ran over to her fallen commander, stepping over dead soldiers and her people alike, grief surrounded her like an aura. There was a murmured name Steve didn’t catch, as the cloaked woman knelt beside her fallen sister.

 

 

But the cry of sorrow that Steve Trevor recognized best was that of the Beloved. How many times had he heard that _exact_ sound of grief? The moment a wife finds out her husband had been claimed by the hell of war. _This_ woman made that _exact_ sound of sorrow as she crashed down, defeated, next to the body of her beloved, clutching her hand and stoking her hair in vain, murmuring her name all the time.


	3. An Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some serious canon divergence in this chapter.

 

Part III: An Awakening

The interrogation of the _man_ Steve Trevor was unsettling. Not only was Themyscira hopelessly outgunned if more men invaded, but there was a war that had cost tens of millions of lives. Of course Diana knew what this figure meant, at least intellectually. But even she could see how rattled her mother was by this statistic. _How many people live in the world of Man if they can lose twenty-something million in a four year war??_ Diana’s thoughts were whirling around as ‘Steve Trevor of the Expeditionary American Forces and British Intelligence’ submitted wholly to the compulsion of Hestia’s gift to the Amazons.

“A war to end all wars,” it was exactly as her mother had told her all those years ago. It was exactly what Ares wanted. And _that very same war_ had killed her only friend, her aunt, her confidant, her mentor, her Antiope.

When Hippolyta wasn’t hearing sense, Diana broke in, “Excuse me, Senator. This is Ares. Millions dead, a war without end? How can you not see it?” Hippolyta flinched, but before she could cut off her daughter again, Diana continued, “How can you say that? ‘It’s not _our_ war?’ What do those words mean to you? Even if it _wasn’t_ our _duty_ from Zeus to balance the world of men–,”

Hippolyta thundered back at her, “You’re _not an Amazon like the rest of us_! We will do nothing.” She whipped around and her entourage followed. Though the red-eyed Menalippe lagged behind. On a whim, Diana briefly grabbed the new General’s arm in solidarity.

Seeing her grief mirrored back tenfold in Menalippe’s face, Diana threw caution to the wind as she shouted after her mother, “Antiope is dead! Is murdering the best of us not cause for action? Your sister? Your new General’s beloved? After all this time, did she mean nothing to you? She’s dead, mother. If it were you, she’d never stop until you were avenged. And doing otherwise is shaming the mercy Zeus granted us! It’s cowardly, mother, and you disgrace her–”

Menalippe squeezed back, gently stopping Diana from wandering into irretrievable waters. Hippolyta was already metres away on the walkway, but she stopped, turned around, looked at Diana as though clearly for the first time, and said: “If you want to go so badly, then leave. No daughter of mine would speak thus.” Without a further word, she swept her cape behind her as she stalked around the corner and out of sight, followed by her senators and advisors.

For the first time, Diana faltered. Menalippe’s breath hissed out in barely controlled emotion. Diana knew what her mother said, and she knew what her mother was _really telling her_. And so did Menalippe.

‘Get out. You’re no daughter of mine.’

It was banishment in all but name. Menalippe had known her queen since the uprising when Antiope liberated her from the fighting pits all those millennia ago. And only thrice had she spoken so to one of their people.

Only traitors.

Wartime traitors.

Diana looked just confounded. The implications of what just happened were not being processed by her brain just now. Menalippe on the other hand understood perfectly what had to happen now.

“Diana, I want you to listen to me,” the grieving General spoke softly. She spoke softly to the girl that she had helped train since she was a teenager. “Diana,” But Diana was still in shock. Not jostling her too much, Menalippe did something that she never had before, drew the younger woman into a hug. It wasn’t the warmest hug, but the firm embrace of a soldier, layered in emotions. “You were Antiope’s greatest pride. She told me the night after you sought her out that first training session in the shadow of the tower when you were but half your height now.” Menalippe took a deep breath before speaking some light treason, “You’re right about Hippolyta. But you need to leave.” Diana broke out of her haze, and stepped back from the General Menalippe with tears in her eyes. Menalippe continued, “You need to leave, not because your mother is a coward, and is wrong, and always has been when it’s come to you, but because my love Antiope pleaded with you to as she d..died.” Menalippe’s voice cracked.

Diana, realising she was speaking to her only ally on Themyscira, nodded, shaking the tears from her cheeks and onto the marble they stood on. “Retrieve Godkiller, your rightful weapon. Also take with you Antiope’s old armour, it’s red and gold, you’ll know it when you see it. And this,” Diana gasped as Menalippe unclasped her shield from her back and handed it to her. The metal was barely scratched by the punishment it took on the beach that day. As Diana held the shield out in front of her in awe, Menalippe glanced around to make sure there were no witnesses before laying the Lasso of Hestia atop the shield.

“Take this too. If we’ve learned nothing today, it’s that the world of men is filled with lies and violence.” Menalippe practically whispered.

Diana threw her arms around her last friend and pulled her close, “Thank you.”

Menalippe wasn’t expecting the embrace this time, but it reminded her of Antiope, so she didn’t mind it. As Diana separated and began to make her way towards the tower where Godkiller resided, Menalippe offered some last advice, “Diana. Antiope used to tell you that ‘your are stronger than you believe, that you have greater power than you know’.” Diana nodded hesitantly. “She wasn’t being affectionate. She was telling you the truth without violating Hippolyta’s decree. You _are_ stronger than you believe. You’ve already experienced it today on the training ground. And you _are_ more powerful than the rest of us _because_ you’re not an _amazon_. You’re so much more.” Diana was reeling with this new information that had been knocking on the barrier of expectations in her own mind. “Diana, _believe_ that you can be the woman that Antiope knew you could be. I certainly do.”


	4. The Austrian's Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Austrian painter pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes references to a few people who actually lived during the time. Fritz Haber is one to look up in particular. Fun fact, Elena Anaya (Dr. Maru's actress) based some of her performance off of the information we have of this man. I toy with history a lot here, because I can.

Part IV: The Austrian’s Shadow

“What the hell happened to her?” The surgeon asked as his newest patient lay in recovery. There was no time to ask such detailed questions before the surgery, they might have lost her.

The woman who had brought her in was fidgeting, well, trembling in rage. “We were attacked. She was walking me home after a few drinks, and a drunk shot her.”

The surgeon looked again at the unconscious woman on the bed, a quarter of her face destroyed, even after the first surgery. The bullet basically disintegrated her lower jaw, along with her teeth and gums on that side. The trajectory of the bullet also deformed her nose. Luckily, she only lost the very tip of her tongue.

“What did she do to provoke such a response?” The surgeon muttered to himself, but the foreign woman heard him.

“‘What did _she do?’”_ The woman fumed, “It doesn’t matter, you swine. He fucking shot her in the face and you have the fucking nerve to ask why it was _her_ fault?!” The surgeon fled the deadly ire of this woman, for he was a coward.

The woman, Liesel, sat down and took Isabel’s unconscious hand once they were alone.

Liesel didn’t say anything, but her best friend was dead to the world anyhow. She watched Isabel’s ragged breathing for a while, and before she too fell asleep, she began to cry.

 

**Some Time Later**

Isabel had long since stopped smiling. It didn’t hurt anymore, she just thought it looked hideous. Besides, thanks to her injury, ‘ _It’s like I’m always smiling’_. She let out a cold chuckle as she made her way down the rainy street. The light in her eyes since having achieved her Doctorate was gone. Within a couple weeks of the incident the authorities had stopped looking for the man responsible for disfiguring the unlikely pride of Germany’s science community.

Her best friend Liesel was absolutely livid. Isabel had to convince her to not barge into the precinct herself. In a rare showing of unity her colleagues in the academic world stood behind her, and even helped with the cost of the multiple surgeries that left her able to function at all. She was able to eat normally again after a couple years of ground up food, and mush. And it’s not like her intellect deteriorated any. At least, that’s what everyone kept reminding her.

She knew they were right. She also knew what they would think of her if they learned the truth about what happened to the man who shot her. As it turned out, cold and direct murder was something that weighed on her conscience after all. It only took a few modifications to a fertilizer formula she had consulted for Dr. Haber on.

The police had found the man who had shot her. An Austrian. One of her colleagues had commented about it in passing, the soldier had mentioned his issues with racial diversity in the Hapsburg’s army. So naturally, because her name was Maru, and probably because she was a woman, he sought her out.

There were things that he said, things that she kept from Liesel, who only saw the shot, but was in the pub in Berlin for the heated exchange before the shot. He had researched her, had hunted her for a while. And he knew of her family, and where they were from. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but she’d found in general that her pale skin hid her from much of the hatred afforded to her peoples.

She found him after the first week. She followed him home one day from his work at an art studio. She held the vial in her hand, and she had only to toss it a few meters in front of her. He’d walk into it, and gargle to death on the remnants of his lungs. She stopped. He continued walking, oblivious, until he re-joined the crowd, and out of sight. This moment of mercy would haunt her nightmares in the decades to come. Never had so many paid a price for such a kindness.

The clouds of war were over the horizon, approaching as surely as the summer rains.

She had been referred to an American sculptor living in Paris who had done her the immense service of crafting her a porcelain mask to cover her deformity. Walking around in public drew stares, more so than when it was just her beauty attracting lustful eyes, but she was so glad that she could walk down any street with her head held high.

The man who referred her to the sculptor was a general in the German army with a fetish for Dr. Haber’s work. A fetish for gas based weaponry, or at least the prospect of such a thing. It didn’t really bother the doctor, after all, so did she. Or at least she was beginning to. Besides, after the Hapsburg heir was murdered, along with his pregnant wife, there was a tension in the air.

Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire wanted to punish Serbia. After all, if the brutal eradication of the lineage of royalty wasn’t a cause for war, what was?

The General, a tall man named Ludendorff, offered her a position a chief chemist. Dr. Maru was surprised, after all, Fritz Haber was the one with seniority, but the general seemed to have faith in her work.

As the war began, there wasn’t much for Isabel to do but work in her lab. Ludendorff would ensure she had the means to achieve her goals. She remembered when her one time mentor, Fritz Haber had told her that, “During peace, scientists belong to the world, but in war, they belong to their country.” And while her country of birth and whose accent she carried was Spain, the place that gave her the opportunity to pursue her dreams was the city of Munich. And so it was for herself, and for Germany she fought.

 


	5. The Road to Veld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where the chapter is shorter, because I didn't go as dark as I could have. I think I made the right choice though. Fuck tropes.

 

Part V: The Road to Veld

It started slow enough that Dr. Maru didn’t notice. But by the second year of the war, she had become cold, and dangerous. Her initial deployment to the field hospitals to test her remedies was but a long forgotten dream. Now, her nightmares were saturated with violence. And soon enough all her worst thoughts rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind, and brought horrors to almost every battle of the war, thanks to the modern miracle of automobile transportation. So many dead, drowned on dry land.

By the third year in the war, her inventions, wielded by General Ludendorff, had taken perhaps a hundred thousand lives. Some of the corpses were just too mangled to tell. But enough soldiers had died screaming due to her gas weapons that the higher ups of the British and French governments had begun to notice her specifically. Even the Americans feared her, though their late entrance into the war was in Dr. Maru’s opinion cowardly. The name they had designated her was scientifically inaccurate, and it annoyed her to no end: ‘Doctor Poison’. Doctor Venom would’ve been more accurate. She was actually disappointed in them.

 

England, France, and the rest of the Allies were reluctant to publicize that so many of their military dead were by the mind of one person. When it was discovered this ‘Doctor Poison’ was a young woman, there was chaos throughout the ranks.

She knew that they knew her real name, after all, years ago before the war she presented at talks at St. Andrews University, as well as Cambridge and Dublin. She had even been invited to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in America, but her mother fell ill that month so Fritz Haber went in her stead. She was always well received. Even though her later inventions made her a widowmaker of sorts, she knew that many of her earlier inventions helped stave off unacceptable casualties.

It was ironic, she thought. That more people looked on her with horror because of her reputation than gasped in disgust before she located the American porcelain sculptor in Paris, before she had something resembling a face worth looking on again. But then again, people now looked on her with such fear that her immaculately crafted facial prosthetic hardly mattered anymore. Everyone. Everyone but Ludendorff was too afraid to meet her eye. He was the only one now, since Liesel went away.

Liesel, her best and only friend who lost her job to sit by her for days in the hospital after her mutilation. Liesel, the girl who first made her aware beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would never be intimate with a man, because Liesel helped her figure out who she truly was. Liesel, the woman who allowed Dr. Maru to hope of a better future for herself after the war began to slowly poison the girl Isabel used to be.

Liesel: her lover who left because she could no longer distinguish the difference between Doctor Isabel ‘Poison’ Maru and the monsters who slaughtered the civilians by the droves.

 

It was only after Liesel left Isabel’s side in 1918 that Doctor Poison stopped differentiating between imminent dead men and civilians. And only once did she allow her poison to end the lives of non-combatant women, men, and children.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another broad disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. 
> 
> I can't stress how much your comments/notes will brighten my day. Just no vitriol please. I'd love to hear what you think of my work, even if it isn't positive. And thanks for sailing with me on a crack ship like this one.


End file.
